Instinct
by Crittab
Summary: Finn knows when something bad is going to happen. He just has that instinct. Finn one-shot, rated T for non-explicit violence.


**Disclaimer:** Idon't own Glee, sadly. I do have the Road to Sectionals DVD set though, does that count?

**Instinct**

It all just kind of felt wrong. Finn was eerily aware of the noises around him as he walked through the deserted streets of Lima, Ohio on that cold November evening. In the distance a dog barked. A lone car whizzed past at a speed not posted on any of the local signs. Wind, streets, grass, rocks crunching under his feet. It was all in order—so why did he feel like he was under a microscope?

Finn wasn't the brightest kid. He didn't score well on tests, he didn't know more than the basics of English and Math, and he routinely misused the word "ignorant". Once, as a kid, a psychologist said he was "below average" and "low functioning" in most of the key areas associated with his studies. He didn't know what any of that meant either.

Something Finn was good at, though, was defending. He'd always felt like a defender, with a keen awareness of his surroundings and an ability to predict danger. Once he even caught on to an intruder before they broke the front window. By the time they were in the living room, the police were in the driveway. He just had a heightened sense of things, he could smell trouble—he smelled trouble as he wandered at an accelerated pace down the street toward the other street that connected to the other street that led to his house. He was on his way home from Puck's house, unfortunately without a car at his disposal.

His heart began to thump faster and harder in his chest as he neared a curve in the road, a blind crest on a hill that peaked at the curve and dropped steeply beyond it. He momentarily considered an alternate route, feeling ill-at-ease with the momentary lapse in visibility, but opted to suck it up and stay on course. The only other route would take him an extra 20 minutes to get home.

He dug his hand deep in his pocket, feeling for his cell phone. He figured if anything did happen the least he could do was speed dial someone, just to be on the safe side. He tinkered with the phone in his pocket, navigating to his contact list by touch. When he was satisfied that he'd reached the list, he selected a number at random. His feet had taken him to the top of the hill, where he could see his suspicions were correct. Near the bottom of the hill, sitting off on some rocks, a couple of the guys from school were guzzling cheap beer and boisterously hooting and hollering to one another.

Finn used to be one of those guys. Not that he was particularly mature now, but he'd changed a lot since joining Glee. Their antics didn't impress him anymore, they only made him wary. He'd been a target of theirs at school since he joined Glee the previous year, and their tormenting had gotten even worse this year when Finn opted out of football to focus on the club.

Theoretically, Finn knew all he had to do was walk by and he'd be home free, but logically he knew that was unlikely. Not only were these the same guys who tormented and slushied him on a daily basis, but they were drunk. He grabbed his cell in his pocket again as he started down the hill, expecting a fight.

He kept his eyes downcast, staring intently at his shoes as he hurried along. He even tried to ignore the pack as they began to call out to him—fag, cunt, homo... words that held no real meaning for Finn. He wasn't insulted by the insinuation as he may have been a year earlier, he just lived with it. Irritating as it was, he realized that being called "gay" wasn't exactly a legitimate insult.

He could feel them closing the distance. He stopped his movement and looked in their direction for the first time. He was a good fifteen feet from them and could probably outrun them for a while, but not for long. He still had about a mile between there and home, and he was built for speed but not stamina.

"Look, I'm just going home guys. I don't want any trouble." He was met with mocking laughter as the group continued to consume his space. He quickly found himself surrounded, Karofsky in his face, with his henchmen taking position in a circle around him.

It all happened pretty quickly, as far as Finn could tell. Immediately upon clicking "talk" on his cell, the pummelling began. A punch in the face turned into a kick in the gut as Finn doubled over on himself, seeking refuge on the cold pavement. His hands covered his face as his ribs took a beating, and his fingers cracked against the force.

But as quickly as it started, it ended, or at least it seemed that way. A car, a scream, and footsteps quickly retreating became the soundtrack to the anti-climactic end of the battle Finn had known was coming for about a mile. He figured he should probably look up to thank whoever had come to his aid, but his consciousness slid away before he could make the effort.

It probably wasn't long, an hour or two at most, before he woke up to a steady beeping. The smell of sanitization filled his lungs when he breathed deeply, an action that hurt more than usual. He figured the football guys probably broke some of his ribs. He idly thought that this would make it difficult to practise his power ballad with Rachel—she'd be pissed about that. He almost wanted to laugh at the fact that his first coherent thought was about Glee; he really was a geek – well, Gleek, as they liked to call themselves. That, in itself, proved they were geeks.

He opened his eyes slowly. It was unpleasant, and the left eye only opened a touch. He figured he probably had some killer war wounds.

"Hey baby." His mom was sitting to his right, leaning in closely. She was wearing her uniform from work, he hoped she wouldn't get in trouble for leaving. She looked like she'd been crying.

"Hey," he mumbled. His throat hurt, he figured he'd probably taken a kick to the neck at some point.

"You okay?" she asked. He offered a half grin, never one to want to freak out his mother. He put her through enough as it was.

"Don't I look okay?" his throat _really_ hurt. He ignored that when he saw her face fall.

"I'm sorry, baby, I should've let you take the car." Finn's heart sunk. Of course she'd make this her fault.

"Mom," Finn attempted to muster a 'don't be ridiculous' voice, but it mostly just came out as a strangled choke. He was irritated with his own inability to communicate properly. He figured he'd just better change the subject. "Who—" he coughed, clearing his throat as much as possible. "Uh—who brought me here?"

"You don't know?" he shook his head.

"Well, you called Rachel. I figured you knew that since you had the line open when she found you. Anyway, she picked up Puck on the way, and the two of them brought you in." Finn smiled inwardly. Good thing he called Rachel—she was just dramatic enough to drop everything based on a weird phone call like the one he graced her with. Good call on bringing Puck, too. She was pretty smart. She probably wasn't "low functioning" or "below average" in anything.

"Where are they?" he asked. His mom just shrugged.

"They took off once I got here. Rachel was pretty upset, and Puck was mumbling about crushing skulls." Finn rolled his eyes. He had little doubt that Puck would at least take out Karofsky—he'd been looking for a reason for a while, this was a prime opportunity.

Finn and Carole lapsed into silence for a while. He didn't find he had much he wanted to say—basically the night had gone to shit and this was the result. He tried to get her to go back to work, but she just rolled her eyes and pushed off the idea.

It wasn't too long before a doctor came in to check up on Finn. He graced him with the details of his injuries: nothing life threatening. A couple broken fingers and ribs, some bruises. He'd be home in the morning and back to school in a few days.

Carole slept in the chair next to Finn all night.

By the time he was back in school, Karofsky still wasn't.

Finn figured a couple bruises and broken bones were no big deal. It's not like he had football to worry about, just some singing and light dancing. He even used the ribs as an excuse to get out of the dance rehearsals for a few weeks—as far as he was concerned, he came out ahead. Plus, the black eye was a total chick-magnet—strange, but true.

**End**

**~Thoughts?**


End file.
